


A rare treat

by rimz08



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 16:00:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2197938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rimz08/pseuds/rimz08
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aramis despairs of humanity. Then he gets some help.<br/>I realised that I haven't written any fluff for a while, especially not Marie fluff. So here goes. Modern AU. Some possibly disturbing descriptions (even thought it's fluffy).<br/>Also d'Artagnan being bad ass and saving the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A rare treat

At 2 am they finally stagger home, d'Artagnan and Aramis, exhausted, cold and shivering. It has been a very long night, and one of the most emotionally taxing they could remember. For weeks they had been working to infiltrate and take down a group smuggling illegal immigrants into the country in terrible conditions. It culminates, on a freezing day, with them opening a container at the Docklands packed with frightened women and children cowering in the stink of vomit, excrement and urine from days inside without air, food or water. A baby wails weakly, almost lacking the strength to even cry from the sound of things. They'd all wanted to be sick at the sight before them, and Aramis had turned around and emptied the contents of his stomach just outside the container, thinking about the depths to which humanity can sink.

They had already had some of the smuggling ring in custody by this point, but the remainder put up a good fight. During a shoot out and chase among the cargo containers Porthos takes a bullet to the shoulder and topples into the freezing, murky Thames below. Seeing it happen, d'Artagnan only takes a moment to throw off his coat before diving in after him, while the others bring down the last few of the enemy.

Porthos, one arm incapacitated, pushes with his legs as d'Artagnan carries them both to the shore.  As he pulls Porthos heavily out of the river onto the muddy bank they are both shaking heavily and Aramis is already running towards them with whatever coats and blankets he had found in their vehicles. Reinforcements take over to lead out the terrified immigrants and arrest the smugglers, and Athos joins Aramis to drag the shivering twosome closer to the road where the ambulance will have easier access. Until it arrives they huddle together in pairs for warmth, Athos with his arms around d'Artagnan, Porthos being looked after by Aramis.

"You're an idiot," Athos mutters to d'Artagnan.

"Yes," he grins through chattering teeth, "but how cool was that? I just dived into the Thames and saved the day!"

"Gotta admit," Porthos grunts, "the kid did good."

"And he saved me getting my hair wet to get you out!" Aramis adds.

 

None of them has come out of it unscathed. They all have numerous cuts and abrasions, sprains and head wounds. But even the bullet wound is not terribly serious. Once warmed up, checked over, stitched and bandaged, Athos instructs the other two to get home, promising to stay overnight with Porthos.

And so it is that at 2am Aramis pulls the car up outside d'Artagnan's house. He stops the engine and sits, staring into space, the images of the night still playing out in his mind. He isn't sure which is worse: the scenes inside that box or the image of Porthos falling off the dockside, followed quickly by d'Artagnan, into swirling black waters. He is sure that he will have nightmares tonight.

D'Artagnan lightly touches his arm. "Hey, why don't you stay. You know the guest bedroom is always made up ready."

"Nah, it's ok. I should get home…" Aramis shakes his head, but d'Artagnan can see he doesn't really want to be alone tonight.

"Come on, Marie'll be thrilled to wake up and see you in the morning." His way of saying that it has affected all of them, what they'd seen tonight, and there was no need to go home and ruminate it on it alone. That instead of thinking about that baby crying for food and water, they should think about Marie's smiling face.

"Only if you make me a cup of your famous hot chocolate before bed," Aramis smiles slightly.

"Deal," says d'Artagnan, "Come on. I'm still freezing."

 

While the milk is heating on the stove, d'Artagnan goes to the linen cupboard and takes out a towel for his friend. He crouches down to the bottom level and roots through piles of neatly folded laundry until Aramis hears him shout in triumph. He then returns with a t-shirt and boxers. "Constance keeps a supply for each of you for when you crash here," he explains, handing them to his friend before returning to the milk and adding in pieces of chocolate.

"You should get a warm shower. I'll bring the hot chocolate in when it's ready," he tells Aramis, shooing him off.

Aramis takes a long hot shower and when he returns to the guest bedroom finds a steaming mug of hot chocolate on the bed stand. He sits on the bed, sipping at it, texting Athos to check how their friend is doing. A few minutes later d'Artagnan pops his wet head around the door, wearing tracksuit trousers and a thick jumper, his own mug of hot chocolate in his hand. "You ok?" he asks.

"As okay as any of us are at the moment. Go to bed. You look exhausted," he replies.

"Cheers. I think I will," he says, taking a swig of his drink.

"Did you add a little something in here?" Aramis asks, looking at his cup.

"The secret of my hot chocolate would not be a secret if I told you that," he answers, winking at his friend before heading off to bed.

 

He strips off his clothes and slips into bed beside Constance, who turns into him, putting her head on his chest. He snuggles into her warmth, the chill of the murky waters still hasn't left him.

"You're freezing," she murmurs.

"A nighttime dip in the Thames can do that," he chuckles, kissing the top of her head.

"Are you hurt?" she asks, suddenly awake.

"Nothing serious. Now go back to sleep," he tells her.

Which she does surprisingly quickly.

 

He hasn't been asleep for long when their nightly visitor arrives. Ever since they moved her out of the cot, Marie simply toddles off to their bed whenever she wakes up. Sometimes, when he can be bothered, d'Artagnan will pick her up and take her back to her own room, lying next to her until she falls asleep. On other occasions, he folds back the blankets and lets her snuggle in between them. Constance is always in favor of the latter, hating to get out of bed at night. As far as she is concerned, she did enough of that in the first year of Marie's life.

Not wanting to leave the warm cocoon of the bed, he lets Marie get in between them, and pulls the covers up to her chin. She smiles contentedly and is asleep again within minutes, and he too drifts off to the rhythmic sound of her breathing.

 

The morning sunlight is sending shafts through the gap in the curtains when Marie wakes. She sits up, in between her parents, and looks around her. D'Artagnan instinctively tells her to lie back down and go to sleep, automatically pushing her down gently and patting her on the back. But Marie is wide awake. She sits up again, leans over and kisses her daddy's cheek, before doing the same to her mother. She continues to do this, making it into a game, moving between them. Both stir at her touch and smile but neither wants to wake up.

Aramis wakes with a start from a nightmare of his friends sinking into bubbling black waters just before dawn and is not able to get back to sleep. Instead of lying thinking, he picks a book from the shelf and starts reading. Hearing Marie's babbling, which has started to sound quite angry, he goes to investigate. The door of thr bedroom is open and he can see her sitting in the bed between the two sleeping forms of her parents, prodding at them to wake up. He takes a step into the bedroom and calls to her.

"Marie!" he whispers at her, "Come on, let's go get you some breakfast and see what cartoons are on!"

Thrilled at the sight of him, she climbs over her mother, who just grunts from the weight on top of her, eases herself off the bed and runs to his outstretched arms. He gathers her to him, kissing her soft head, and she responds with a giggle.

"Shush. Let's let mummy and daddy sleep, ok?"

She nods gravely. "Mummdy, daddy, sleeping."

"Good girl."

 

In the kitchen he makes her egg and toast and sits at the table with her while she eats, sipping a cup of coffee. "Yummy!" She declares, "Aramis toast yummy." And her innocent joy brings a smile to his face.

When she's finished, they settle down to watch cartoons together. And that's how Constance finds them when her alarm goes off, Marie on his lap watching the TV, Aramis with his head back on the sofa, fast asleep.

"Hey sweetie," she says quietly.

"Mummy!" her daughter responds, "Look! Peppa Pig! Marie eat toast. Yummy!"

Aramis is woken by Marie's excitement.

"Sorry," says Constance, taking Marie from him, "I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to bed."

"It's fine," he says rubbing his face, "we were just watching cartoons and I…"

"It's ok. Peppa Pig can bore anyone to sleep." Constance chuckles. "Thanks, by the way, for the lie in. It's a rare treat."

"Think nothing of it, madam," he says with a flourish, "it did me just as much good as it did you." He's smiling at Marie, in Constance's arms, and the little girl wriggles from her mother's grasp and runs back to her uncle. Climbing up on him she plants a sloppy kiss on his cheek and throws her arms around him. Shaking off the last remnants of sleep and nightmares, with the sun at the window and a beautiful little girl in his arms, the nightmares have been chased away, at least until night falls again.

 

 

 


End file.
